


Clippings

by VillainousShakespeare



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Tower, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Loki is an ass, Loki is bored, Post Avengers Assemble, Pranks, Silly, flirty loki, obnoxious Loki, which is never good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainousShakespeare/pseuds/VillainousShakespeare
Summary: You are the head of PR for the Avengers. Normally you love your job, but a series of pranks has you scrambling to recover. At last it occurs to you who the culprit must be - a certain God of Mischief living just a few flights down.
Relationships: Loki/OFC, Loki/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 143





	Clippings

**Author's Note:**

> A year or so ago I was commenting on @wrath-kitty’s wonderful work Sucker’s Luck and we had a little conversation about Loki pranking the Avengers with magazine clippings. This is the result.

It had started simply enough. Tony had stumbled into his office one morning in Stark Tower, hung over (naturally) and grumpy as hell (as goes without saying). He banged into the corner of his desk, cursing the piece of furniture for existing, and an avalanche of treacherously stacked mail flurried down around him.

He hadn't looked at any of it for over three weeks. He and Pepper were "on a break" and she was working exclusively from the California office. As a result, nothing was where it was supposed to be. It was unfortunate, but you had told the temp assigned to his mail that it was better that way. Should she touch or misplace the wrong thing, it would be far worse than if she simply let it lie where it came in. People knew well enough to direct the important things to his department heads, including yourself in public relations.

As he stared sourly at the pile of paper littering his floor, Tony's eyes were drawn to a copy of Time Magazine. There on the cover, in bright red and gold, was his picture in his suit, face plate open to reveal his handsome mug. The banner read "(IRON)Man of the Year!"

Or at any rate that was what it was supposed to say. You had spoken at length to the publisher to ensure that it was the banner. Unfortunately, on closer examination that made his head pound as though a certain Thunder God was using it for hammer practice, the words had been altered to read "(IDIOT)Man of the Year!" In addition to the change in text, devil horns had been inked onto his helmet, a long tail was curling out from behind him, complete with pointed end, and he held a pitchfork in his hand. For a final insult, the artist had blacked out three of his teeth.

half an hour later, he had stormed into your office a few floors below.

"Alright," he said, slapping the offending magazine down on your desk as you quickly hung up your call and gave him your attention. "I can take a joke. So one of my subordinates wanted to be clever, did they? I suppose I might have said or done something in the past to have deserved it."

"Oh dear," you tried not to laugh as you stared at the cover. "Do you know who it was?"

"No, I don't," he growled, throwing another copy with the same alterations onto your work space, "because they are All. Like. This!"

One by one he slammed a stack of magazines in front of you, each one displaying the altered text and image of him.

"I examined it, and it seems to be the original ink, not an alteration after printing," he ground out. "I assume, of course, that this was not the copy you approved? Because if it was, I am grossly overpaying you." 

"It is not what I agreed to," you hastened to assure him. "Maybe it was a saboteur on the print floor. Someone from Hammer Tech maybe? Or, not to get all personal here, maybe an ex-girlfriend?"

"I don't know," he snapped, glaring at the desiccated image. "All I know is I want them pulled. All of them. Now!"

"Of course," you agreed at once.

It was not as easy as you might have hoped. It seemed every copy had been printed with the alteration. Worse than that, there were posters and billboards all over New York where Tony could see them, as well as in other cities, and all had somehow been created with the offensive graphic. It was a nightmare getting them pulled, and by the time you did the television media had already picked up on them.

A week later, it was Steve and Bucky's turn. You knew something was up when you entered the Avenger's Tower and saw the lobby festooned with hundreds of bouquets of flowers. Curious about the preponderance of blossoms, you had plucked a card from one and choked back your laughter as you read.

"To Steve and Bucky," it said in a loopy script, "congratulations on making it official. You are a lovely couple."

Oh dear, you thought. This could not be good.

When you reached your office, your assistant was waiting for you, a newspaper in her hand. 

"Um, boss," she said with a worried tone of voice, "have your looked at the Times today?"

"No," you felt a wave of dread flow over you. "Why?"

"I put a copy on your desk," she said instead of answering directly.

Warily, you picked up the paper open to the Wedding Section of the Weekend Times. There, right in the center of the page above the fold, was a picture of Captain America and his friend The Winter Soldier. Underneath the article read:

"Steve Rogers And James (Bucky) Barnes are delighted to announce their engagement. The two have been secretly a couple since before the invention of the color television, but decided to finally go public. Says Rogers, 'I got tired of him trying to keep his options open. If he wants all this, he better put a ring on it!' A date has yet to be set, but the couple are hoping for a June wedding. In lieu of gifts, please make donations to your local AARP."

The fact that a church had been booked and a florist and caterer engaged made it even harder to unravel all of the headaches that went with that particular prank. Steve was mortified by the announcement, insisting to anyone who would listen that he was more than happy with the status of his relationship with his oldest friend. Oddly, Bucky didn't seem particularly bothered by it, but did give Steve some searching looks after word of the article made its way around the building.

You received the Thor article yourself, two weeks later. You had been lulled into a state of false security as things calmed down in Avenger's world. You should have known better. An envelope addressed to the public relations depart had of course ended up on your desk. Inside, a clipping from page 6 was stuck inside a note card. Looking at the card, you found an elegant, bold hand had written "For Thor" on the card.

The article was not good. It appeared that Dr. Jane Foster had been seen out and about in London with a wealthy, outrageously good looking scientist. The two looked quite close as they sat sipping cocktails under the stars in the picture, her hand clasped in his. A red marker had been used to draw a large heart around the image, and in the margins of the article were written such commentary as "Oh dear, is she cheating?", "Good for her!", "Looks like someone is trading up!" and, most cuttingly, "Is someone's hammer bigger than a certain God's? Inquiring minds want to know!"

"Oh, good God!" you groaned, lowering your head to the desk, dreading the thought of sharing the offensive paper with Thor. Briefly, you thought of hiding it from the blond Asgardian, but you thought better of it. Though you had no way of knowing for sure, you would bet money that, just as with the Time Magazine cover, every copy of the story was similarly compromised. Someone was bound to see it and say something to Thor. As director of the Avenger's public relations, it was best to come from you.

It just made no sense! Tony you could understand. You loved the man, but even he had to admit that he had made his share of enemies in his life. Hell, half of the Avenger's work seemed to be neutralizing people that he had offended at one time or another to the extent of turning them into super villains! Steve, Bucky, and Thor, however, were all likeable, inoffensive men. Who could possibly want to make mischief for any of them?

Mischief. Your head shot up and your eyes narrowed. It couldn't be. Could it? The more you thought about it, one name screamed itself into your brain, to the point where you couldn't understand why you hadn't thought of it before. It was so bloody obvious!

With grim determination you rose from your desk and tromped your way to the elevator, punching in one of the residential floors when it arrived. The call, it seemed, was coming from inside the house.

When you got to the door, you knocked hard and tapped your toe impatiently as you waited for a response. You knew he was there, of course. He was not allowed to go anywhere else, at least not unless escorted by his brother, and you knew for a fact that Thor was off world at the moment. Just when you were considering going to get reinforcements, a lazy, bored sounding voice called from within, inviting you to come in.

Bracing yourself for what was sure to be a confrontation, you opened the door and let yourself into the rooms of Loki, prince of Asgard and "guest" of SHIELD. If guest could be used to describe a God held against their will in an impregnable tower containing numerous enhanced individuals intent on seeing that he stayed where they could keep a constant eye on him.

The room was decorated in golds and greens, all lush and comfortable looking. Bookshelves lined the walls, and additional stacks of books littered the floor and table. Loki himself lay on a couch on the far side of the room, one arm behind his head, the other held a large volume that he seemed completely engrossed in. He did not so much as look in your direction as you stood on the door step, unsure how to begin.

"If you're looking for Thor," he said in a lazy drawl, not bothering to look up, "you might try next door."

"Thor is off world and you know it," you snapped, fighting down your agitation.

No one in your life had ever made you as anxious al Loki did on a good day. The man... the _God_ was a public relations nightmare! He was the living definition of "loose canon", libel to say or do anything without warning. You supposed it came with his job description, but it did not make your life any easier. The fact that he was stupidly handsome and cuttingly witty just insured that any chance the press got to cover him was leaped at.

"I said you could try, I didn't say you would find him," Loki smirked, still looking at his book. He read for a few more moments before seeming to come to a stopping place, marking it with a bookmark, and finally, _finally_ raising his eyes to you. "Ah, director! How nice of you to visit!"

"This isn't a social call, Loki," you said with very little grace.

"Well, that is a shame," he purred, sitting up and smoothing out his soft green tunic that veed to show just a teasing glimpse of his chest. "I get so few visitors, and those I do are not nearly so pleasing to converse with, or to look at for that matter."

You felt your eyes narrow as you stared at him, trying to tell if he was mocking you or not. You knew that he could lie as easily as breath, but you could not suppress the small, nagging hope that he meant it. It galled you to no end, but you could not quite rid yourself of an asinine crush on the God. Pulling yourself together, you tried to recover your initial irritation.

"The pranks, Loki," you told him in a severe voice, "they end. Now."

"What pranks?" he asked innocently, one eyebrow arching.

"You know damn well what pranks, Loki! The Time Magazine cover. The wedding announcement. And now the article with Dr. Foster."

"Ooh, what has my brother's favorite mortal done now?" he asked, seeming for all the world like he was legitimately curious. 

"So you are saying you are not responsible for altering the articles?" you demanded.

"Director, how on this blasted realm would I be responsible for anything?" he asked reasonably. "I am confined by this infernal bracelet on my ankle to this suite of rooms, only allowed out when my hulking mass of a brother chooses to take pity on me."

"You have magic," you said tentatively.

"Yes, once again confined by this device they force me to wear. I don't know why you need me to tell you this, Director. You yourself spoke most eloquently on the television about me. What was the quote now? Let me see...'We owe Prince Loki an apology. Far from being the mastermind behind the Attack on New York, he did everything in his considerable powers to prevent it. Were it not for his double agent machinations, the loss of life would be catastrophic. He is, in my eyes, a hero. None the less, the Asgardian Prince, realizing that tensions are running high in the aftermath of the incident, has graciously agreed to certain precautions, including a device to curtail his magic for the duration of his stay.'"

It was word for word the statement you had made on behalf of the Avengers and SHIELD months ago. That fact that Loki remembered it, and had altered his voice somehow to mimic your cadence and tone, rendered you momentarily speechless. As you struggled for response, a wicked grin spread across his face.

"I did so love to hear you defending me that way, my dear. Tell me, do you really consider me a hero?" his voice was smooth as honey as he rose from the couch and moved toward you, unconscious grace in his every movement.

"It is my job to put a good spin on things," you said, sounding lame to your own ears. 

"So, then you don't find me gracious? Or even just a touch heroic?" he purred, now very much intruding on your personal space. "You don't think I have considerable powers?"

"Of course you have powers," you gulped, feeling your pulse race as he leaned his forearm on the wall next to your head. "It's why I am convinced that you altered those articles."

"Ah yes, the articles," he said as though he had forgotten all about them, as he grinned down at you from far too close.

"Yes. The articles. It's why I am here," you reminded both of you, wondering how to describe the smell that surrounded him other than delicious.

"If that is the case, then why ever would I stop? If I were to be the one creating them. You presence here in my rooms is the most enjoyment I've had in months."

"Why?" you blurted out, hating yourself the moment the word left your lips.

"I like you," he said simply. "You don't shy away from me when I so much as look at you. You don't moralize at me. You don't pity me."

"Pity you?" your voice squeaked upward. "You're a gorgeous, princely god with super powers! In what universe would you be pitied?"

"I am a _captive,_ gorgeous, princely god," he corrected, eyes sparkling as he held yours. "One hated by the Midgardians, cast out by both birth and adopted parents, suffered at best by my host jailers. Many might pity me. But not you. You see me as something else."

"I see you as a pr nightmare!" you grumbled, unable to look away from him. "The amount of chaos you cause for my office with your little jokes is more than even Stark, and I didn't think that was possible."

"Oh, I am sorry," he said, sounding anything but. "You could have avoided it, you know."

"How?" you demanded, swallowing as he leaned in even more.

"By coming to visit sooner. I thought I was going to have to get Banner's friend accepted to the Bronx Zoo before you finally showed up here."

"You did this on purpose?" you gasped. "To see me?"

"I'm not saying I did do it," he hedged, eyes glittering with amusement, "but if I did, that would certainly be one of two very good reasons to do so."

"And the other?" you asked, just to have something to say while your mind processed the information.

"It was funny," he laughed, breath ghosting across your neck and making you shiver.

Against your will, you suddenly laughed as well. The picture of Tony, the announcement for Steve and Bucky, the comments on Jane and Thor, now that you weren't in the throes of putting out the fires they had caused, you could see clearly the hilarity of his silly pranks. It felt good to let down your professional demeanor and giggle like a teenager over the outrage they had caused.

"Did the jests truly make your job too difficult," he asked, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and making your mouth go dry.

"I handled it," you said, voice distressingly unstable.

"I have no doubt. You are good at your job. I watch you on the box whenever you appear before the moronic press. You make even my brother sound as though he knows what he is doing."

"Thor is sweet," you protested weakly.

"Thor is an idiot," he said, though not without a trace of affection. "You are not. I find it a rare treat."

"Thank you," your voice was little more than a whisper.

"If the pranks, as you called them, were to stop," he said, eyes lowering to look at your lips, "and you had more free time on your hands, do you think you might spend so of it with me? Say, for dinner?"

"I... I could probably manage that," you said. "If you would like."

"I would very much like," he murmured. "May I, Director?"

Not needing him to clarify, you gave a small nod of your head. As soon as that brief sign of consent had been given, Loki lowered his lips to yours in a kiss that was gentle and tentative, not at all what you had been expecting. He pulled back after a few moments, the taste of his lips lingering against yours, and you gazed up at him with glazed eyes.

"Tonight then?" you asked, not caring if you sounded desperate.

"Tonight would be fine," he smiled at you, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. "I will look forward to it greatly.

"I should get back to work then," you sighed, not wanting to leave but knowing you had a deadline. "There's an interview on now that I need to monitor."

"Very well," Loki sounded resigned, but still walked you gallantly the two feet to the door. "I shall see you later then."

You smiled goofily at him, not believing you had a date with the god of mischief, when suddenly Loki's eyes snapped up to the television in the corner.

"The interview," Loki said, improbably appearing just behind you. "It is with Director Fury?"

"Yes. Why?"

Wordlessly Loki snapped his fingers and the television began playing. On the screen, a buttoned down news anchor was doing his best not to break as Nick Fury expounded on the benefits of the Avengers Initiative. It would have been an intimidating speech were it not for the message flashing in bright green lights across his eyepatch. "I'm Nick Fury, Bitch!" was the least obscene of the bunch. Slowly you closed your eyes and shook your head. 

"Perhaps we should move dinner until tomorrow," he said with evident disappointment.

"Is this all" you asked, feeling impending doom. 

"I promise," his voice was warring between amusement and chastisement. "I had forgotten about this one until now. I mean, if I was responsible."

"Dinner better be damn good," you sighed.

"I promise you, pet," he said, smiling smugly, " _dinner_ will be worth it."

"In that case," you bit your bottom lip. "I will go clean up this mess and see you tomorrow."

Loki raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, letting his tongue just ever so slightly graze against your skin. It was enough to set you tingling to your toes.

"I live in anticipation," he told you.

"Loki," you said, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Remember, I control the press. You do something like this again, I will make sure that everyone knows how devoted you are to Thor, and what a soft, sentimental soul you have."

"You wouldn't!" he gasped, horrified.

"Try me Mischief," you smiled, feeling at last a bit more like yourself.

"Oh, I knew I was right about you," he smiled in admiration. "My dear, we are going to have so much fun."

Turning slowly, you sauntered to the elevator. All in all, it had been a good day.


End file.
